


John Can't Spell Sherlock

by RachaelHolmes



Category: johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Coffee, Cute, Fluff, Humor, John can't spell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 17:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10417218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachaelHolmes/pseuds/RachaelHolmes
Summary: John works at a cafe, and not once on any single one of the occasions Sherlock has come in has John spelt his name right. He's asked others, asked Sherlock himself, and even googled it, but the spelling has never been right. He's pretty sure Sherlock thought he had a mental disability. He probably does to be honest, from the sheer amount of times he's spelt his name wrong.





	

"Oh my god John!" Sherlock groaned, not even noticing the apologetic looks sent his way from the man in front of him.  
"Sherlock, just calm down." The ginger haired brother next to him said regretfully. John noticed he looked rather put out, yet he could only blame himself. Sherlock Holmes and his brother, Mycroft, came here every week, at the exact same time. They ordered the same drinks, sat in the same spot, and left at the same time. And not once on any single one of these occasions had John Watson spelt either of the brother's names right on their orders. He'd asked others, asked them, and even googled it, but the spelling would never be right. He was pretty sure Sherlock thought he had a mental disability. He probably did to be honest, from the sheer amount of times he'd spelt their names wrong.  
"Look, can't you just tell me how to spell it?" he asked, not for the first time. Sherlock looked at him exasperatedly and said "If I have to tell you how to spell it, what's the point of telling you my name in the first place?"  
"Sherlock you haven't had to tell me your name in 3 bloody months, just tell me how it's spelt." John spat, a little bit pissed off at himself, and also the big mound of jerkerino standing in front of him in a long coat with the collars turned up, all high and mighty. And those cheekbones! Don't even get John started on the cheekbones. Who even had cheekbones as high as that, he was pretty sure it defied all laws of gravity, and they interrupted his thoughts constantly.  
"Why don't we come to a compromise." Mycroft spoke, interrupting the glare off between the two men. Both pairs of eyes snapped to him.  
"I will tell you how to spell my name -" he held up his hand to ward off Sherlock's protests "because frankly it's getting rather tiring that you still can't spell it, and I'd prefer to stop the amount of silent letters you're putting in there right now, thank you." John sheepishly looked down to Mycroft's cup, where he could make out the... _name_ 'Pmiycroffte' scrawled along the top. He'd thought it had been a pretty good guess at the time, but apparently not. "However," Mycroft continued. "I will not disclose the information needed to spell my brother's name correctly." John sighed, and Sherlock grinned. He supposed you couldn't win them all.


End file.
